It was not as if I’d never been to this city. I knew it intimately. And although I was excluded from its bazaar of languages, I thought myself lucky that its official tongue was one I’d used from my infancy.

But now even this familiar tongue became a puzzle.

<<No Passing Here to Crossing>> What did that mean?

This new prepositional arrangement presented a conundrum.

Long did I stand on street corners observing the traffic, until bit by bit interpretations and ellipses of my new home began to fall in place for me.

© Cynthia James – October 2016